


Strong Hands

by recrudescence



Category: Glee
Genre: Foot Fetish, Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-22
Updated: 2010-05-22
Packaged: 2017-10-09 15:56:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/89121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/recrudescence/pseuds/recrudescence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten-inch stilettos can take their toll. Walk, walk, fashion baby.</p><p>Inspired by a prompt from the Glee Kink Meme: <em>Kurt likes it when people play with his feet/toes.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Strong Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a prompt from the Glee Kink Meme: _Kurt likes it when people play with his feet/toes._

  
"How does Gaga do it? _How_?"

"She's some kind of a minor deity, obviously."

"Are you seriously calling Godga _minor_?" Kurt looked almost more tormented by this than by the state of his feet. Next to his chair in the choir room, the ten-inch stilettos rested haphazardly on the floor like a pair of discarded weapons.

"You could talk to Mr. Schue about doing the song in a wheelchair," Artie suggested. "It's not like it's never been done."

"Gaga would never settle for anything less." Kurt grimaced, catching himself. "Not that...wheelchairs are _less_. But it'd be a cop-out."

Artie wrinkled his nose. "Or you could join the boys' team and let the girls do 'Bad Romance' by themselves. I mean, you are a guy. And no one in Kiss wears suicide heels."

"But I already made my costume," Kurt protested. "And...Kiss? Seriously? No, thank you."

"Then you'd better keep on breaking in your torture devices." Artie leaned down to pick one up. Silver and studded and still big enough for Kurt's foot. "Do I wanna know how you even got a hold of these?"

"Brittany's cousin gives pole-dancing classes. She's got the hookup."

"I'm going to sit here quietly and pretend to be surprised."

"It's very good cardio, actually. So I hear."

"Yeah...still sitting here quietly."

Kurt carefully stepped back into his sneakers and stood, scooping the Gaga heel out of Artie's grasp. "Has anyone ever told you how wonderfully supportive you are?" he asked conversationally, holding open the door so Artie could pass through first.

"Has anyone ever told you that you brought all this on yourself?"

Kurt smoothed an errant hair into place, gazing solemnly down the hallway. "You have to suffer for the sake of greatness."

  


\---

Artie hadn't been able to feel his feet for years. He was still waiting for greatness.

"I'm treating myself to a pedicure and a six-hour foot rub when all this is over. I don't care how much it costs."

It was becoming routine, running into Kurt in the choir room during non-rehearsal times. Kurt was still trying to concentrate on keeping his feet on balance and his voice on key at the same time, and Artie preferred to hone his choreography with no one else around. He always felt there was double the pressure on him if he slipped up.

"You know you can just save your money," Artie pointed out. "Anyone can give a massage. All you need are strong hands."

"Tina says you have admirable stamina in that area."

Artie opened his mouth, but couldn't think of a single thing to say to that.

Kurt obliviously continued, eyes on his feet as he sashayed carefully across the room, "Would it be weird or offensive or any combination thereof if I asked what your rates are? Because I'm dying from the ankles down here."

Artie was beginning to feel like a goldfish.

"They're clean, of _course_," Kurt added, like the mere notion of any part of his body being remotely uncared for was offensive. "Pumice and foot cream and, as of last Thursday, aloe socks."

"Please don't describe anything else," Artie broke in, finally finding his voice. There was something strange about how Kurt could prattle on about these things without a trace of self-consciousness. It sort of reminded him of how Tina would talk with Mercedes about makeup techniques or skin care routines.

Kurt sat down beside him and smiled.

He hadn't lied. Shoeless, Kurt's feet were almost delicate, for a guy's. Smooth heels, soft arches, and Kurt's head arched back just enough to be noticeable when Artie kneaded there with both thumbs. "I don't know how the hell I ended up doing this," he muttered.

"I don't either, but by all means, keep doing it."

He did, rather dazedly pressing into the ball of each foot in turn, working the pads of his fingers into the areas bearing the most of the strain whenever Kurt strapped himself into those damn heels. "At least they don't stink."

"There's a very simple deterrent for that," Kurt began, and Artie swiftly pinched his instep, "_but_ I can tell you aren't interested."

He fell obligingly silent from that point on, leaning lazily back in a chair situated perpendicular to Artie's own.

Kurt's feet were both in his lap. Against his thigh at first, which he couldn't feel, then Kurt was shifting and toes were curling incredibly close to his groin, which he _could_, and Artie did his best to subtly wheel back a few inches, thankful that Kurt's eyes were closed. Feet flexing, ankles rotating in his grasp and rubbing against his lap, like Kurt was completely unaware Artie was there at all. Or maybe a little _too_ aware.

He could only cope with it for so long before announcing he was finished, and Kurt's voice was as breathy as a girl's when he thanked him effusively. There were spots of pink on both of his cheeks and it made Artie feel a little nervous.

"I think..." he paused, choosing his words cautiously and then sighing when he realized he couldn't. "I think you're getting off on this."

Blinking blankly at him, Kurt only gave a dainty shrug. "I think you are, too," he said, absolutely deadpan. "Is that your price?"

And he was out of the room before Artie could work out whether or not that was joke.

  


\---

  
"Artie."

Framed in the front doorway, Kurt looked beyond sheepish.

"I didn't mean to get weird the other day." He was gazing contritely at the threshold, voice determinedly steady even though the shade of fuchsia in his face was giving the azalea hedges some serious competition. "You were right. About strong hands. I just didn't think you'd be that good at it. Even though you've obviously had more practice than anyone else I know."

Staring was the only thing it occurred to Artie to do. "It's...okay," he said slowly. "I mean, I didn't expect...y'know. And it's not like you did either."

Kurt went a little redder. Artie stared a little more. "Unless you...totally did."

"Touch is an inherently sensual thing," Kurt began vaguely. "You exceeded expectations."

"Is this, like, something you read about in Miss Pillsbury's office?" Artie had seen some of the pamphlets she kept in there, considering they were displayed at his eye level, and wouldn't have been surprised if one of them covered this subject.

"No. I just have really sensitive feet and thought you had really nice hands. I wouldn't proposition just _anybody_."

"I don't know if that's a compliment or just creepy."

Now Kurt looked frustrated. "See, this is why I didn't just text you to say sorry. I don't need it getting forwarded to everyone."

That was giving an awful lot of credit to someone who had gone most of his life undergoing Puck's antics. Then again, Kurt wasn't exactly a stranger to those himself. "Because I'm so the kind of person who does _that_ kind of crap."

"You can't be too careful," Kurt said quietly.

Artie sighed and moved out of the way to let him in. He'd never had Kurt over before—he didn't generally have _anyone_ over—and was at something of a loss. "Ready to do your Gaga tomorrow? Shoes and all?"

But Kurt apparently had other things on his mind. "Could you do it again? I won't move around or do anything that freaks out you. You did it before...and it was really nice." Babbling, barely giving Artie a chance to distinguish between words.

He had to give him some credit for having the balls to come over and ask all over again. He didn't have to acknowledge it. He didn't have to say anything back.

He definitely didn't have to let Kurt follow him into his room, let him perch on the edge of the bed, let him tentatively toe off one of his dress shoes like he was waiting for Artie to sneer or spit on him. Artie only watched, not used to having anything that anybody _wanted_.

Kurt was drawing in his knee, chin set a little defensively, and Artie reached to catch him around the calf. Strip off the sock. Map out the shape of him all over again with one half-gloved hand—the same moon-white skin and delicate toes and twin notches at the ankle. Same self-conscious heat in his face when he touched him, smooth-knead-pressing each toe in turn and not daring to look Kurt in the eye or wonder when his life took a turn for the slightly-more-fucked-up-than-usual.

"Like I said." Kurt finally broke the silence, ending the almost meditative calm that had eventually settled around them. "You're really good at it."

He gazed at Artie for a long moment, and then, very slowly, pressed the ball of his foot between his thighs. Gradually, cautiously, and the unexpected stimulation that maybe part of him had been wanting to expect all along had him getting _hard_ and there was nothing he could do about it but try to croak out something resembling English and not immediately wheel himself back out of the way. Or forward and further into it. "Please?" Kurt was asking, pink-mouthed and plaintive-voiced and still very much a _guy_. A guy to whom Artie could still tell no—and Kurt would listen, he was certain, even though he would be mortified—but he didn't.

Foot flat to his abdomen, arching gracefully as those toes curled slightly into his shirt, neatly trimmed nails—very possibly polished with a clear coat, knowing Kurt—catching the light, and leaving Artie absorbing the heat in a sole-shaped patch through the cloth of it. Kurt's heel now nestled firmly flush with his groin and making him want to arch in ways it really, really _shouldn't_, so Artie bent his head on an impulse. Cupping a hand under that same heel, lifting a bit, just enough to let his mouth brush against the soft pad of the largest toe. Freaked out and curious and maybe deflecting and definitely not sure what to anticipate.

It was explosive. "_Fuck_," breathed Kurt, the first time Artie could ever recall hearing him use the word, and his eyes had gone glassy and his hands were both snarled around wads of blanket—to keep from _touching_ himself, Artie realized with a shock that singed through him like an actual electrical charge–still rubbing his heel against Artie's erection—the one that should. not. exist.—through his pants.

"You can _feel_ that." Short of breath, stating the obvious and making Artie duck away biting the inside of his cheek. "I wondered..." Kurt went on softly, and of _course_ he did, same as everyone did; knee-jerk reaction to _any,_ paraplegic—how far up does the loss of sensation go?

But Kurt had moved on, uttering strained-earnest little queries like "Is it okay?" and "Do you like that?" that Artie couldn't have answered verbally if his life depended on it. Ducking again, pursing his mouth there, taking the second toe, the longest, and molding his tongue to the unfamiliar shape of it, just to have the experience of making Kurt fall back onto his elbows and _whine_. He'd never had anything close to this kind of effect on anyone. Never.

And Kurt had Artie's name on his tongue as Artie's tongue was stroking against the clean-soft surface of one of his fucking toes, lips pursing enough to experimentally _suck_ there, and Kurt made a sound like a sob and practically bucked off the bed and it didn't take any further evidence for Artie to realize that he'd come. _Come_ from having a toe sucked—just _thinking_ it seemed humiliatingly deviant, even though they were both fully clothed. With the exception of Kurt's right foot, which he gradually withdrew, eyes huge and face somewhere between exultant and horrified.

"I really don't get you." Almost shyly, almost accusingly. A hand through his his hair, then pushing up his glasses, hardly sure what to do with himself now that Kurt had both feet back on the ground. "Who else would be crazy enough to do...what is this, even? _Foot _seduction?"

"I'm a _freak_, baby," Kurt parodied the edited version of the "Bad Romance" lyric, smiling very slightly. "Seriously, I'm past the point of denial now. I'm getting better about being okay with that. Maybe it'll catch on."

That made a surprising amount of sense to Artie's brain, even though he was sure it was functioning at half capacity or less at the moment.

Kurt's other foot was flat on the floor, still neatly shoed and socked. Artie took a deep breath and eased forward enough to nudge the toe of it with one wheel.  



End file.
